The Flapjack


This morning, I embarked on a mission to brave the flapjack.

It has been there all along at the snackbar on the floor of my office , but I’ve held back, as while it looks like it could be a delicious cookie, it could also go horribly wrong.

It started out well. The flapjack is a lot like a very dense and buttery oatmeal cookie that has been made in the style of dessert bars, which are sliced inside the pan.

I had planned to take a picture of the flapjack outside of its packaging, but I was too enthralled while eating it to stop and take a picture. I also realized that someone might pop in and catch me trying to take a reasonable picture of a bisected flapjack and have yet another reason to think I’m a bit odd.

Then it all went wrong.

I finished the flapjack and cast the wrapper to the corner of my desk, where I’m saving garbage to build a nest for the apocalypse. Shortly after, my eyes wandered over to the wrapper while on a call, and I flipped the wrapper over to check out the nutritional information…

Expiration: 23 November 2008
(Apologies, the picture from my Blackberry is a bit blurry.)

What to do?

I felt OK… but, then again, my husband does proudly tell strangers that I could (and would, probably) eat a bowl of change.

Should I tell the canteen that they’re selling expired food?
-Yes: It’s the right thing to do.
-No: I could allow other people the choice to have a possible sick day due to the snack bar’s silent threat. I might steal another’s opportunity for joy, to be had only by making one’s new graduates eat a snack with a not lengthy enough shelf life.

Then I forgot about it; something shiny got my attention, or possibly it was just work. I took the secret home with me, seemingly unscarred by my snack.

Now, I have concerns that my consumption of this expired flapjack may have affected my experience, requiring me to repeat the experiment and eat another; only this time, a fresh one.

More to follow.

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